


Threshold

by caswell



Series: spike and wave (an epileptic boy and his biggest fans) [4]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Epileptic Jeremy Heere, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 00:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: The aftermath of the SQUIP leaves Jeremy in shambles, both emotionally and neurologically.





	Threshold

**Author's Note:**

> HEY SO... like obviously I'll write more about the SQUIP and Jeremy's experience with it later but I just wanted to get this one out cuz I had ideas for it.  
> It won't be for a while though, because I'm working on a DEH longfic- right now it's uh, 11.5k words? And it's not even half done. It's about time loops and polyamory, so. Get hype, if you'd like.  
> Side note- the names Taco and Burrito have nothing to do with Michael's Latino heritage; they're the names of my hermit crabs from when I was like, nine.

**First things first: get rid of that bracelet.** The SQUIP’s voice echoes in Jeremy’s head, almost soothing but not quite; it’s going to take some getting used to.

Jeremy glances down at his medical alert bracelet, silver and shining on his wrist, and frowns.  _ But… I need that. In case I start having a seizure.  _ Not that anybody would actually help him out if he had one; he’d just been spasming on the floor, and nobody had taken a look at it. Still, it’s good to have.

The SQUIP laughs, a harsh sound with a static undertone. **Really, Jeremy- I can access your brain, your muscles, your innermost thoughts. Do you really think I can’t prevent you from having seizures?** **  
** Jeremy perks up, eyes widening. _You can stop my seizures? How?_

**It’s simple,** the SQUIP answers.  **I can control the electrical impulses in your brain- that’s how I can do this.** Jeremy’s fist clenches and unclenches outside of his will; it’s an odd feeling, but not particularly unpleasant, so he lets it go.  **Seizures are just electrical impulses that have gone astray. I can regulate these impulses like I do the ones that are meant to be there.**

_ So I don’t have to be epileptic anymore?  _ Jeremy can’t hold back a grin; he gets a couple odd looks as he walks back to his table, but he doesn’t really care about that anymore. If the SQUIP isn’t lying, he’s going to be seizure-free! That’s the best news he’s heard in years.

**That’s right,** the SQUIP says.  **In fact, when you’re with me, you won’t have to worry about much of anything anymore.**

 

What a load of shit.

Sure, he didn’t have any seizures- not even myoclonic twitches- for the two months he had the SQUIP, but when he got it removed… well. Then it was a whole different story.

“Jeremy? Jeremy?” Michael waves his hand in front of Jeremy’s face, and he blinks, shaking his head.

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbles, looking down at his untouched lunchtray. “Absence seizure... I think.” He doesn’t remember drifting off and daydreaming about anything, so it must be. He has to admit, though, he almost forgot what it felt like to have a completely blank mind like that. Maybe he’s making things up.

Michael sighs, placing a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Jeremy says, and shrugs. “They’re not that bad. Just a little weird.” He doesn’t mention, though, that he’s already had three that day. Michael doesn’t need to have that sort of stress on him, and besides, he can’t vent to him right now; they’re only just beginning to repair their friendship. 

Michael opens his mouth to say something, but apparently thinks better of it, because he’s silent for a few more moments. He bites into his apple, swallows it, and says, “So, how’s Florence? I haven’t seen her in a few months.”

Florence is being run ragged by the uptick in seizure activity, and it’s not that great on Jeremy himself, either. Obviously. “She’s alright,” Jeremy says, which isn’t a lie- she’s a cat, after all; how bad could a cat’s life be?- but there’s a part of him that feels almost guilty that he’s putting his cat through that much, even if it’s just licking his nose or his leg. Maybe cats get worried when their owners are about to have seizures. Maybe he’s stressing her out, and that’s why she’s been shedding so much even during the winter. 

“Jeremy.”

Jeremy snaps back to the present. “Right. Yeah. No, uh, she’s doing fine. How are Taco and Burrito?”

“The crabs are fine,” Michael says, then takes another bite of his apple, slurping at the hole he’s left afterwards. It’s sort of a disgusting sound.

“That’s good.” Jeremy picks up a now-cold french fry and bites into it, then grimaces. “Oh, that’s gross as hell.”

Michael shrugs. “It’s school cafeteria food, man. What did you expect, filet mignon?”

Jeremy, despite everything, cracks a smile.

 

_ so when are u going to tell your dad about yr seizures? _

Jeremy receives the text a few minutes after six that evening. He stares at it blankly for a few moments, then replies,  _ soon.  _ He knows it's not a big enough lie to appease Michael, but what else is he supposed to do? His dad would find out sooner or later. 

Truth be told, Jeremy doesn't  _ want  _ to tell his father. It's not that he doesn't trust him- he's been doing a lot better since the business with the SQUIP- but really, his seizures are… well, he doesn't like talking about them. They're just one of the many things that make him Different, and he hates being Different. If he ignores them, maybe they'll go away. He knows it’s illogical, that the only way to make them go away is medication, but when’s the last time he had a logical response to anything? 

_ why not now?  _ is Michael's predictable response, and Jeremy frowns down at his phone. Damn, this guy is persistent.

_ bc it's nbd dude.  _ That actually has some truth to it. So he zones out once in a while, or his limbs jerk. So what? It's not worth making a big deal out of.  _ u know we don’t have the money to go to the neurologist a bunch. dad’s insurance sucks ass.  _ Also true.

Jeremy can practically hear Michael’s aggravated sigh and see his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose when he reads his next text:  _ srsly jer. i’m sure you can pay for one more before your next checkup. also: it’s a big deal if you start having a bunch of seizures! it’s way more than normal, isnt it? otherwise you wouldn’t be acting so shady. _

_ i’m not acting shady. _

_ you totally are, and i get it, but like _

‘Michael is typing’ appears and disappears on the screen over and over again as Jeremy watches, entranced. Finally, Michael finishes his thought.

_ i’m scared for you. you’re not okay, and i know you’re trying to hide it, but it’s not working. you think i don’t see? _

Jeremy swallows the bile that rises in his throat. No- nobody can know about this. Nobody can know the way he lies awake at night, too scared to fall asleep and dream about the SQUIP. Nobody can know about the lightning-like scars that streak down the pale skin of his spine. And most certainly, nobody can know about the seizures. He can’t be the problem child anymore, the one with all the baggage, with the disability, with the… whatever.

_ Jeremy? _

Jeremy has half a mind to toss his phone across the room and deal with it later, but Michael would just drive over and demand to see him, so there’s no point.  _ i don’t want to talk about it,  _ he types, and sends the message without a second thought.

_ okay, fine, i won’t push you. but if you don’t tell your dad about your seizures, i will.  _

Jeremy freezes. Nononono-  _ Michael wait dont do that dude no!!!! _

Michael doesn't respond, and, after a couple minutes, Jeremy drops his phone from his sweaty hands, resigned. Well, fuck. 

In the distance, barely audible, there comes a pinging noise, and Jeremy closes his eyes tight. Three, two, one… “Jeremy?”

Jeremy sighs and presses the heels of his palms against his closed eyes. “Yeah?” he calls back. Great. Cool and excellent. This isn't exactly the conversation he wanted to have today, but fucking whatever, right?

There comes the thudding of heavy footsteps on the basement stairs, and, a moment later, Mr. Heere raps on his closed door. “Jeremy? Can I come in?”

Jeremy sighs again, resigned, and mumbles, “Yeah, alright.” He takes his hands off his face, wipes the sweat off on his jeans, and looks toward the door as Mr. Heere opens it. “What is it?” he asks, attempting to play dumb, but not pulling it off very well.

“I think you already know,” Mr. Heere says, and sits down on the end of Jeremy's bed, nearly squishing Florence. She hops away and curls up next to Jeremy, purring. “Michael informed me that you've been having seizures again.”

There, it's been said out loud. Now it's real; now it has weight. “It's not that big of a deal,” Jeremy says weakly, carding his fingers through Florence's blue-gray fur. “Just some twitches and zoning out.”

“Of course it's a big deal,” Mr. Heere says, and sighs, glancing down at his hands before looking up at Jeremy again. “Have you been skipping your meds again, Jeremy?”

Jeremy shakes his head. For the first few weeks after he got out of the hospital, Mr. Heere had insisted on watching Jeremy take his meds; there had been an uproar of concern when the blood tests revealed that his lamictal levels were at a whopping zero. Had six other people not experienced it, the Squipcident (as Rich had dubbed it) probably would have been deemed a seizure.

“Well, whatever the reason, we have to get you to a neurologist,” Mr. Heere says. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

Jeremy fiddles with Florence's ear, worrying it between his fingers until she pulls away and retreats to the end of the bed again. “I don't know. I just didn't want to.”

“This is your safety we're talking about,” Mr. Heere says, and sighs, face marked with uncontained concern. “It's okay, Jeremy. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jeremy bites the inside of his cheek and averts his gaze. Of course it's something to be ashamed of! He's a freak! He's a spazz! He’s… “Fine. Whatever,” he grumbles. “Just… go make the appointment, okay?” He turns over, facing away from his father, and squeezes his eyes shut. If he can ignore it, everything will go away.

 

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Jeremy breaks. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Michael chants, staring intently at the screen as his character fights zombies alongside Jeremy’s. 

Jeremy makes a valiant attempt to tune him out, because both of their characters are at dreadfully low HP and the repetition distracts him, but it’s no use. He grits his teeth and fights through it instead, twisting the annoyance into a form of motivation. They’re almost dead, but so are the enemies, and they’re almost at the end of the level they’ve been stuck on for so long-

And then his hand jerks.

His controller launches itself and slides across the dingy tan carpet, only stopping when it hits the SNES console. A zombie lands the killing hit on his character, and, when Michael looks over, momentarily distracted, a zombie gets his, too. “Fuck,” Jeremy says, and it comes out as a hiss, almost as if he’s in pain.

“What happened, dude?” Michael asks as  **GAME OVER** blinks on the screen, red against a backdrop of green, which isn’t nearly as Christmas-y as it sounds.

Jeremy groans, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. “Myoclonic seizure,” he mumbles.

“Speak up, Jer, I can’t hear you.”

“I  _ said, _ it was a seizure,” Jeremy says, more aggressive than he intended to be, and Michael shrinks back a little. “Sorry.”

“No, it's fine,” Michael says, and reaches out to pat Jeremy on the shoulder. “You're doing fine, I just… did your father not get you an appointment?”

“It's not for another two weeks.” Jeremy sighs and rubs his arm, not making eye contact with Michael. “It takes forever to get an appointment with a neurologist.”

“Oh.”

Jeremy nods and stares down at his hands, fingers threaded together as they sit in his lap. “This is all so stupid. It's just so… so  _ fucking  _ stupid, man. Like, for real.”

“It's not stupid, Jer; it's just a disability,” Michael says, and Jeremy glances up at him to see sympathy etched on his face, furrowed brows and all. “It's just like my ADHD.”

Jeremy sighs, swallows sharply. “Except your ADHD doesn't make you a spastic freak,” he says, knowing full well that if he himself had ADHD, he would be calling himself a freak for that, too. “I just… I wish I hadn't gotten this dumbass disea- uhh, syndrome. The time when I had the SQUIP… that was the most normal I'd felt since I got diagnosed. I mean, it was the most normal I’d felt ever, but… I didn’t have a single seizure the entire time, even though I wasn’t taking my meds.” He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s had all his life. “It was a miracle, and I’ll never get it back.”

“Are you seriously saying you miss the SQUIP?” Michael asks, voice hushed, as he leans in toward Jeremy. “Dude, it was abusing you! It almost took over the whole school- the entirety of humanity, even- if we hadn’t stopped it.”

“No, I-” Jeremy pauses as he feels a sob rising up from some deep dark pit in him. Oh, that’s just fucking great; now he’s tearing up. He breathes out a ragged sigh and blinks the tear away, then says, “I just want to feel normal for once in my life. I don’t wanna be a freak anymore. I don’t want to have to wear this-” he glances down at the silver med alert band around his wrist- “this stupid fucking bracelet anymore.” With a grunt, he wrenches it off, tossing it across the floor where it lands with a  _ clink  _ next to the SNES controller. “And I don’t want to have to take meds just so I don’t, I don’t know, pass out and piss my pants in class.”

“Jeremy-”

“Let me have this, okay?” Jeremy snaps, rounding on Michael. Tears are brimming at full force now; one slips out of his eye before he can wipe it away, and it crawls pitifully down his face. “Let me be angry for one second. Do you know how big of a freak I am?”

Michael opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again a moment later, shaking his head instead.

“I’ve got PTSD, man, from that stupid shitty robot, and now I’m having a bunch of seizures because God hates me or something, I don’t know, I just-” Jeremy takes a shuddering breath in, then sighs it out equally as weakly. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know when the next time I’ll break a glass or forget where I am or jerk while driving and fucking die is. And it’s  _ scary.” _

Michael gnaws on the inside of his mouth for a moment before replying, “It’s only two more weeks, Jeremy. You’ll get through it.”

“And why should I have to see a neurologist just to function like a halfway normal human being? A-and what if they can’t fix it?” The words tumble from Jeremy’s mouth with no signs of stopping, and he curses himself for every inch of it. “I wish I could just… give up.”

Michael’s eyes widen, and he inches toward Jeremy, reaching out a hand to take his. “Wait, you don’t mean-”

“I don’t know what I mean, that’s the thing,” Jeremy says. “I just wish I didn’t have to deal with any of this anymore. I don’t want to have to worry anymore. I want to be able to drive, and I want to be able to… I dunno, go scuba diving, and I want to… ugh.” He trails off into a groan and turns away from Michael, though he’s still keenly aware of the hand holding his own. “Maybe I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Michael says; Jeremy chokes back a sob as he presses himself against him, an anchor in the stupid shitty sea of his fucked-up brain. “I’ll probably never get this, but… I can tell you’re going to be alright.”

“I don’t think I will be,” Jeremy admits, a confession that he wasn’t meaning to make today. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be. A-and I know it’s only been, like, a month, and I know I need to take it slow, but I’m so terrified all the damn time because I’m not sure if I can live without it.” Tears drip steadily down his face as he forces the words out, hating himself more with every syllable.

“Of course you can,” Michael says, squeezing Jeremy’s hand until it hurts. “You’ve  _ never  _ needed it. I’ll bet you twenty bucks that they’ll up your dosage and you’ll be fine again.”

“Okay, but what about the trauma?” The insults, the shocks, the knowledge that he almost doomed mankind to chill zombiehood… “That’s not going to go away. They can’t just put me on anticonvulsants for that and call it a day.”

“I’ll be here for you, okay?” Gently, Michael places a hand on jeremy’s chin and turns his face toward him; Jeremy looks away for a few moments, but finally makes eye contact with him. “I know it’s not much, and I know I don’t understand everything, but I’ll do what I can.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Let’s not talk about that right now.”

Jeremy longs to protest, to convince Michael for some stupid, self-sabotaging reason that he should just leave him to wallow in his misery, but he knows that won’t fly. “...Fine,” he says finally, and closes his eyes. His breaths are suffocated, and he can’t help but press his face into the crook of Michael’s neck, staining his skin with shining tears. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the black fabric of Michael’s t-shirt. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“You don’t have to know,” Michael says, and brings up a hand to run his fingers through Jeremy’s hair. “You just have to try.”

“I don’t know how to start,” Jeremy says, sniffling.

Michael is silent for a few moments, which Jeremy takes to mean he must be coming up with a plan. Usually, Michael’s the type to just wing it, but Jeremy can’t live without one, meaning Michael’s had to improvise when Jeremy breaks down like this. Add that to the mile-long list of things Jeremy has to be grateful for, and it’s crushing, filling him with the sort of guilt that doesn’t go away with an ‘it’s okay’.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Michael says, and Jeremy breathes out, going limp in his arms. Thank God. “In two weeks, they’re going to get you on a higher dose of meds, and that’ll probably help the seizures. You still have to wear your bracelet-” Jeremy grimaces- “but nobody’s given you shit since you got your SQUIP, so it should be fine, right?”

Jeremy winces at the reminder, but it’s true; ever since he fell in with the popular students at Middle Borough, he hasn’t been teased at all about the bracelet. “Right.”

“That’s what I thought. And… you could start seeing a therapist.”

“They’d send me to the loony bin in, like, two seconds if I told the truth,” Jeremy says. “That’s a no.”

“Okay, then talk to me, or talk to Rich, or  _ some _ thing. I just don’t want you to be feeling this way.” Michael’s hand travels from Jeremy’s hair to the nape of his neck, rubbing it gently, and Jeremy desperately wants to wrench himself away and  _ run,  _ not because he hates it, but because it’s too tender- does he deserve this? Is this okay? Is it alright to feel something like this?

...Whatever the answer, Jeremy clings to it, trying to focus solely on the places where Michael’s fingers meet his skin. When he eventually remembers that he hasn’t responded to Michael’s suggestion, he says, “Okay. I guess I can do that.”

“I’m here for you, okay?” Michael says, and gently pushes Jeremy away so he can look into his eyes. “Even after everything. Maybe this will help us fix things. Full transparency, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Jeremy nods, hoping against hope that he can tape up the broken pieces, both his own and Michael’s. It’s a painful, already-exhausted resolution, but somewhere deep inside, Jeremy decides to survive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love you!  
> Sorry if y'all are getting tired of these, I was just on a roll, lmao. Also I'm not that sorry.  
> If you're interested in more epileptic Jeremy, check out epilepticjeremy on tumblr!


End file.
